


When Teen Angst Hits

by aesdiac



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesdiac/pseuds/aesdiac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm Bellamy Bla--"</p>
<p>"I know very well who you are." Clarke may as well have been a snake in her former life, the venom in her tone was anything but subtle. Still not looking up.</p>
<p>"That makes it easier then, and you are?" </p>
<p>"I'm not playing this game with you, Blake." </p>
<p>With this, she finally lifts her head up, thunderous expression and all, and God--if Bellamy believed in one, he was sure that his eyes would look as vivid as her's.</p>
<p>Bellamy suddenly remembers to breathe. Show no sign of weakness against the enemy.</p>
<p>(Aka: The fake-dating delinquent Bellamy and unimpressed Clarke who can't stand being around each other, High School AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Teen Angst Hits

Damn. Bellamy felt the day drawling particularly slower than usual—not that dragging himself to another  _much_   _anticipated_  detention was supposed to be any more exciting, or something. 

However, going through the past two hours partnered with a prepubescent-looking seventeen year-old in a lab full of tempting chemicals, which he was unceasingly reminded not to lay a finger on every few minutes, proceeding with toying with a bottle of acetate and a vial of some green liquid he had no idea what the hell was, and almost burning the entire campus down--detention was bound to be the highlight of his day.

"Bell," His curly-haired head shot towards the direction of the heaving voice, only in time to see his little sister pushing past the crowd of rising estrogen and testosterone levels, egotistical high schoolers. 

Bellamy looks at her expectantly, "I thought you were hitching a ride with the Griffin girl today." At this point, everyday seemed like the more accurate term. It made more reasonable sense, Clarke and Octavia virtually shared identical schedules, as opposed to his, fully booked and sprinkled with detentions and counseling meetings. The life of a delinquent was a busy one. 

"Well, I  _was_  'till Lexa decided that Monday was a good day for an ice-cream date with her." Octavia's amused expression betrays her irritated tone. Bellamy, of all people, was quite aware of his sister's affinity for meddling with relationships, he had vivid memories of terrible set-up dates to prove it. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if the girl herself had played matchmaker with the certain Griffin and Lexa. 

Speaking of the devils. A curtain of blonde hair piques his vision, of course, trailed by the brunette who's usually sullen expression seemed non-existent whenever she was around the other. Figures. 

"Is this your doing, O?" Bellamy's head bobbed towards the pair, laughing about something one had said. It was obnoxious.

"Ha. I wish," the younger Blake's head followed his with a shrug, "they just gravitated towards each other, a nice match, don't you think?" 

His eyes trailed down the entangled arms of the two, setting on fingers delicately wrapped around the other's, like they had held the world and—"Look, I can't bring you home, detention awaits. Plus it's not like I can skip it, seeing as skipping a class was how I booked it in the first place." Or was it for calling his first period teacher an asshole to see how he'd react? He should really start taking these down, it's getting hard to tell. On his defense, Mr. Shumway is an utter asshole.  

"Jesus, another one, Bell? What is it--your sixth one this month?" She was exaggerating. It was only the fifth. 

"O, I'm going to be late, I wouldn't want them missing their king too much after all. Ask that techie friend of yours to drop you off, Raven or something." With that sarcastic remark, he turns his heels towards the room he welcomed (and yet dreaded) like a friend, detention. 

The stench of fresh sweat overcome his senses, the sweet smell of detention...or rather, the sophomore Jasper, soaking in his usual seat like an exhausted pig. The wonderful after effects of blazing a joint, ladies and gentlemen.

"Hey Ms. Syd--I bet you thought last Friday was the last one, eh?" Another favorite past time of his, pissing Ms. Diana Sydney off.

"Oh believe me, Mr. Blake, I already  _expect_  that I'll be seeing you here in the next couple days." What do you know, the lab incident news had probably spread fast among the faculty. Wildfire is always hard to contain. Then again, it could be the Mr. Shumway incident--or hell, even both. Bellamy has gotten his big break of fame. 

Bellamy saunters past the first two filled rows and straight into the heart of the third, settling into the seat beside Jasper. The sophomore stoner greets him with a slow nod and Bellamy remembers his unfinished beef with the boy. Another one of Octavia's string of admirers to piss Bellamy off. 

Like any other respectable adolescent would do in his situation, he takes his shoes off and makes himself comfortable. Bellamy was well acquainted with the flow of this period; it was sleep, and wake up an hour later completely dazed and thereafter recall a few seconds later which deed he had done to deserve the hour. 

Bellamy takes a single peek of the class before plunking his head on the hard table--wincing a bit at the sound of his head meeting the surface. What an idiot. 

"That sounded like that hurt, man." A voice above him droned, vaguely recognizable, was it that other kid Monty? Probably not. Bellamy was too much of an ass to lift his head up from his position to see who it was. He could hear the same person plop into the free seat next to his.  

Bellamy's arms shuffled a bit, attempting to create a nest for him to doze off in. Soon, another voice disturbs the room's silence. This time, a female's. Said female says something to the teacher, then walks--or rather stomps, by the sounds of it, up to the chair next to Bellamy's and starts angrily whispering at the mystery owner of the male's voice--which Bellamy could feed his curiosity and discover who if only he'd lift his head an inch or two, but again, he was an insufferable lazy ass.

"I told you to stop following me into class.  _Especially_  in front of Raven." The girl hissed, and Bellamy had never heard a whisper so hostile. 

"Well you're the one who followed me into fucking detention--"

"Yeah well, I wouldn't have if you hadn't been trailing after me like some lost puppy--"

"You haven't been fucking replying to my texts, and you wouldn't talk to me here in school--"

"First of all, Lexa will  _murder_  you if she finds out about me even uttering a single word to you--"

As entertaining as listening to the two continuously cut each other off in their attempted exchange of words was, Bellamy wanted his sleep. 

"--look, I don't care if you're both having some teenage angst crisis going on or whatever, I'm desperately trying to get some sleep here and having this conversation in the midst of a detention period probably isn't a good idea, which you'll see in retrospect later on once rumors start passing around, because if you haven't noticed, both of you aren't exactly whispering and this room is full of nosy--" At this point, Bellamy fully lifts his head off of the table it was glued to, with his eyes starting to clear up and refocus after a few groggy blinks.

A horrified looking Clarke Griffin and Finn Collins stare at him. For some reason, they were the last people that would've occurred to him. Now that he thought about it, it made sense; that aggravating, hostile-inducing tone couldn't have belonged to anyone else but Clarke. His face suddenly crumples into a confused expression, wasn't she supposed to be out on a date instead of grating a defenseless tool also known as Finn Collins?

Before he could get another word out, the blonde shoots Finn a look that says something along the lines of 'I'll murder you' or 'we'll talk about this later.'

"I'll wait for you after detention." She manages calmly to Collins, despite the hurricane anyone could sense brewing within her. That phrase could've easily meant either of Bellamy's look translations. 

It looks like Bellamy had managed to doze off after all, because as he stirs from his euphoric slumber--he notices how the room had emptied out. No one had bothered to wake him. Bellamy wasn't sure if he should be offended by it at all. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and trudges towards the door, hearing a distinct grunt followed soon after by angry-sounding footsteps.

Bellamy probably hadn't taken long, but by the time he makes it to the hallway, Clarke is alone with a stormy look on her face. As if abiding by her expression, strong pitter patters against the pavement begin to fall. 

He stands still for a moment, having an inner debate against the more sensible part of himself, which said that the girl was more likely to flip him off and murder him than have a friendly conversation. But Bellamy liked going against being sensible and preferred being a little shit. 

"I don't think we've ever properly met," which wasn't a lie because the one time they had spoken was to argue over who brought Octavia home. It wasn't a pretty sight, but seeing the girl flare up was entertaining as hell. 

She didn't look up. Fine. 

"I'm Bellamy Bla--"

"I know very well who you are." Clarke may as well have been a snake in her former life, the venom in her tone was anything but subtle. Still not looking up.

"That makes it easier then, and you are?" 

"I'm  _not_  playing this game with you, Blake." 

With this, she finally lifts her head up, thunderous expression and all, and God--if Bellamy believed in one, he was sure that his eyes would look as vivid as her's.

Bellamy suddenly remembers to breathe. Show no sign of weakness against the enemy.

"I wasn't aware that I was playing one." His lips curl into a smirk that has proved worthy of pissing anyone off.

"I'm not in the mood for this," she struts towards the school's main entrance, probably noticing the rainfall, "shit--I didn't bring the car." Clarke says more to herself than to Bellamy. 

Bellamy traces her steps, pushing the steel door open and waving his keys around. Of course, this was met by a scoff from the blonde.

"I'd rather walk," and to further prove her point, she darts straight into the rain. 

Apparently, Clarke Griffin didn't give a shit about rain-transmitted diseases because she  _seriously_  does continue to walk, not bothering to look back. Bellamy takes this time to ponder over the genuine meaning of the word 'gentleman.'

He makes it to his car in ample time to catch Clarke rounding the corner, who's matted golden hair glares at him despite it's wet condition.

"Get in the car, princess." Bellamy shouts over the blended sound of the rain and his car's window rolling down.

Bellamy wants to take it back as soon as he drops the final word because then, Clarke shoots him an incredulous look that makes him regret ever being born--more than he previously already has. 

" _What_  did you call me?"

"Never mind that, just get in." 

"Nein." Great, she knows German. He really shouldn't be surprised.

Suddenly, the appeal of being a gentleman starts to lose it's allure in favor of driving off without her.

"I'm trying to be a gentleman, Griffin. You know, top hats and all?" 

"Gentleman my ass, Blake." 

Bellamy decides to pretend that the mention of the buttocks didn't almost trigger his eyes towards her certain bottom area and that he didn't need to fight off the urge. He wasn't going to hand her the satisfaction. 

"Last chance." Bellamy says, completely meaning it. Now she was just being stubborn. "For real."

"I'm not taking it." 

With that simple sentence, the favor of driving off without her wins him over. He swivels the vehicle around and indeed, he does. The girl's figure appearing gradually smaller as every second passes. 

But...maybe he isn't as much of an ass as he'd like to think he is because after the count of thirty, he turns his car towards her direction once more and follows her in a hopefully unnoticeable distance to see her safely home. Maybe.

After hiding his face with a sweaty black shirt for a good ten minutes, making him look more suspicious than he'd like, it turns out that the Griffin household really was only walking distance. 

Upon pulling into his driveway, Bellamy starts to ponder on whether what he had just done was legally considered stalking. He hoped not because God sure as hell knew that his school record would do anything  _but_  assist in  _defending_  his case.

"Can you explain to me what this is supposed to mean?" Octavia shoves her phone onto Bellamy's face as he enters the frame of the door, the back-light almost blinding him. 

_'How are you related to an insufferable prick, Octavia?'_

Bellamy didn't even need to look at the text contact's name to know who's hostile attempt this was. If he tried hard enough, he could almost hear Clarke's frustrated groans. 

"It means that you're related to a complete and charming asshole, O."

"Funny. Really." Her face says otherwise.

"I don't see you laughing."

"Bell, I don't know what goddamn battle you had with her this time, but I clearly remember telling you to stop terrorizing my friends." Octavia makes a strangled noise. "Clarke, especially." If Bellamy wasn't so tall, this would most likely be a successful attempt in threatening him, but Octavia's petite height just didn't work to her advantage.

"Then where am I supposed to have my fun?" He presses. Bellamy truly loved Octavia, sadly, that didn't excuse her from his antics.

"I'll tell her you're sorry," says Octavia, completely ignoring his question and swiftly typing away. 

"Only if you feel like lying to her." Bellamy shrugs. "I'm really not, but whatever helps her sleep at night, I guess." Clarke probably didn't get much of it, seeing as her face seemed constantly fixed into a scowl that looked even tighter when it was directed at Bellamy. When was it not, though?

Lincoln waits for Bellamy before his second period world geography class the following day, looking a bit agitated and oddly uncomfortable. Which also makes Bellamy uncomfortable because: 1) they don't share this class together and 2) seeing either of these expressions on a guy so much bigger than him and on the football team was plain weird.

"Hey man," Lincoln starts, "can I hitch a ride with you later?" 

"Sure. I gotta go to detention first, though." 

These random car rides with the football player weren't unusual. They happened at least once a week, starting sometime during their freshman year.

"Okay, then can I go to detention with you?" Lincoln asks, still nervously looking around like he's murdered a man. Bellamy considers this thought.

"Uh," Bellamy's face probably looks a little bewildered at the question, "I mean, I guess Syd has no problem with that? Like, as long as you shut up I guess or--"

"--Cool, thanks." 

It's taking all of Bellamy's willpower not to ask him about his unusual state, but now wasn't the right time. They had the car ride for that later.

"See you later, I guess?" Bellamy doesn't mean for it to sound like a question, but the moment the words spill out of his lips, Lexa walks by and exchanges this look of pure terror with Lincoln that Bellamy was sure any scientist would've loved to study, only for the ridiculous amount of tension radiating off of it. 

As difficult as this was, before he could think about a certain blonde, Bellamy shrugs it off and settles into the class.

"Is the world coming to an end or is Bellamy Blake actually in time for my class?" His teacher looks surprised--no, that was an understatement. She looked almost appalled, and suddenly Bellamy wishes he hadn't withheld himself in grating his friend before the period, right time or not. 

"Miracles are made everyday, miss A." He shoots back to the wide-eyed Ms. Anya Praetus, Bellamy style. Which is to say in a way that has landed him a life supply of detention slips. Thankfully, all she does is let out a defeated grunt and picks up a piece of ivory chalk.

This was met by amused snickers, accompanied by a rough pat on the back from Monty, Jasper the stoner's other half and an even larger dork than the other.

Bellamy gets away with these minor antics only because most of Ton DC High already expects this of him. This school was all but forgiving. If you didn't play your cards right, you could end up like a freshman locked in a back-alley dumpster for the next five hours until someone accidentally finds you drenched in left over fruit juice and sloppy joes. ( _Cliche_ , but true.) Not that Bellamy was speaking from experience.

"Bellamy." The brunette in the seat before his swivels towards him. Murphy is an acquaintance at most, and also one of the few people who isn't afraid of speaking to him. He held some odd fascination for the things Bellamy did. This will be proved in the following question he routinely asked. 

"What'd you do last weekend?" Murphy says in a hushed tone, laced with an excitement that Bellamy will never understand. 

At this, Bellamy cocks his head. Mimicking a person who probably genuinely did a lot over the weekend and was recalling every event. 

"Went to a party." He says, nonchalantly. This was a fact. But the complete truth was that all he did was drive Octavia to some random house party and stayed for a total of two minutes to proceed for some Taco Bell. 

"Nice," Murphy's eyes light up, "I bet you were a riot, as usual." Well, the juicy Taco might agree with Murphy.

The bell rings and Bellamy shifts his vision slightly to the corner as he makes his way to the next class. He notices a neon pink post-it stuck to hem of Monty's shirt, glaring at Bellamy with it's words, crappily written in blue ink.

'Fucking Fag Nerd' 

He suddenly feels like he's been vaulted back to sixth grade. It was a weak attempt at an offensive label, but Bellamy guesses that anyone would feel uncomfortable with something like it hanging of their backs for everyone to see. 

He liked Monty enough. Albeit their differences in character, they have had their good share of light conversations. 

"Mont, my man--" Bellamy slings one of his arms around Monty's back, "have you seen the new Star Wars trailer?" 

The little dude's eyes light up, taking a breath before what Bellamy expects, is a lengthy splurge of emotions and opinions on it. 

Bellamy learns about the theorized familial relationships of the Skywalkers, the creative processes done during the making of the new film, and countless other theories that Bellamy had not at all absorbed, in a matter of five short minutes. Managing to locate and crumple the post-it at some point. Mission accomplished. Bellamy gets this weird mental image of himself as a spy covered in tight black spandex.

"See you at maths." Monty waves a goodbye at Bellamy, which he misses to respond to because then he's completely distracted by a pair of oceanic eyes intently watching him from a distance. 

Across from Bellamy, leaning against a locker, the owner of these said eyes had been standing there--as if completely engrossed in what Bellamy had just done. 'What' he mouths to Clarke. 

Snapping out of it, Clarke's vaguely (very unlikely) approving expression quickly turns dark. She shuts her locker closed and looks anywhere but his direction. 

Lincoln still looks nervous, which starts to worry Bellamy partly because it's been almost more than six hours since he first saw him that day and a full hour of detention. Whatever can get a jock to wet his pants is probably a big deal. Then again, Lincoln wasn't like the others--not that Bellamy is saying he's a softie. In a fist-fight, Lincoln would sure as hell beat Bellamy's ass. 

Lincoln taps his fingers on the car door as soon as he gets in. He stays like this for a few minutes before Bellamy starts getting antsy.

"So," Bellamy says unsurely, "how was your day?" He realizes this was probably the worst question to ask.

Lincoln starts pouring everything out like a dam. Poor guy probably had to hold it in the entire day.

"Shit--oh God--she's gonna kill me man--I wasn't supposed to see--" Bellamy can't understand anything Lincoln's saying.

"Okay okay, calm down dude." Bellamy's hands gesture for him to slow down. "What'd you see?"

"You know how Lexa's my lab partner, right?" He looks up at Bellamy, sweating bullets. "I was looking for her 'cause she left one of her essays on the table yesterday, so I call her before first period starts but she wouldn't answer." 

Bellamy nods, waiting for him to continue. 

"Then, like, I decide to just give it to her tomorrow cause I don't have a class with her today and I head to the boy's locker room to get my sketch book--" Lincoln's eyes suddenly widen. "Yeah, I sketch. You can forget I ever said that. Anyway, on the way out of the locker room I kinda hear slight banging sounds so I go look for it and that's when I see Lexa with that girl Costia, I think, and they're kind of in the middle of this make out session--shit, and," Lincoln gulps and Bellamy tries his best to keep his mouth closed. 

"I try to be all ninja and just stealthily walk out of there, but it's hard when you're as big as me, you know? So I accidentally bump into a locker and then they look at me and my life flashes before my eyes because Lexa shoots me this look, fuck, I've never seen anything so scary," Bellamy knows the feeling, "and that's when I remember that she's going out with Clarke and I kinda just walk away as fast as I can." Lincoln starts inhaling and exhaling. Bellamy takes this as a cue to say something, which takes him about ten seconds because, well, what can you even say?

"D-Did you tell anybody?" Because this is all Bellamy can think of. "I mean, besides me."

"Yeah," and Bellamy is about to protest to this when Lincoln quickly adds, "Miller and Raven." 

During lunch periods, Bellamy often hung out with Lincoln and Miller, with Jasper and Monty joining in if ever they weren't conducting one of their eccentric experiments or eating with Clarke and her crew of geniuses, which included Octavia--who you could say was a genius in her own right, particularly for her ability to manipulate and charm anyone in her line of sight. Bellamy thinks she got the better genes. 

Raven on the other hand, was something like a secret confidante to Bellamy. In public, Bellamy didn't acknowledge her existence and vice-versa. Bellamy doesn't really know why they do this or how it started, but it is what it is, they just go with it. It was complicated, but Bellamy remembers their confiding rendezvous springing from her hatred for a certain Finn Collins. Well, she'd  _say_  she hated him, but Bellamy could notice how often her expressions betrayed her words. He couldn't blame her, they had an extensive history. Still, that didn't stop Bellamy from trash talking the boy, to which she'd happily contribute to.

"You think they'll tell her?" Bellamy asks, slowly. 

"Who, Clarke?" 

"Yeah." A feeling starts brewing in the pit of his stomach, and Bellamy knows it's not gas because he hasn't eaten anything gassy. Maybe it's food poisoning. 

Lincoln presses his lips, and considers this.

"Maybe. But I gotta be honest, I kind-of want them to. Clarke deserves to know."

Bellamy remembers how Clarke's pink fingers are constantly wrapped in Lexa's and he finds himself nodding in agreement.

"Why go to detention with me, though?" Bellamy asks, looking at Lincoln with an expression somewhere in between curiosity and confusion.

"I, uh, just had this feeling Lexa was going to come looking for me, so, yeah, I needed some way to avoid her." 

Seeing this certain muscular guy practically quivering in fear of a much smaller girl would be comedy gold under any other circumstance, but Bellamy didn't feel like laughing.

They drive the rest of the way in uneasy silence until they get to Lincoln's house, covered in fairy-like shrubbery and flowers. Bellamy asked him once if they hired a gardener. With a straight face, all Lincoln told him was that he did the gardening himself. Bellamy doesn't ask again. He's known him since the beginning of high school, but there are plenty of things that will always confuse Bellamy about him. Lincoln was a fucking clown--terrifying on the outside, but actually goodhearted internally, or so Bellamy thinks.

Bellamy undoubtably knows that one of them must have told her. Aside from the fact that Clarke's frowns seemed more distinct and longer than usual, Bellamy hasn't seen the blonde with Lexa at all the rest of the week. He even made a remark when they bumped into each other before a class, it was meant to  _annoy_  her, it was supposed to annoy  _anyone._ Yet, Clarke merely nodded with an apparent distant look on her face. Fuck, that scared Bellamy, and it bordered on worry. Was he losing his touch?

Of all the terrifying looks Clarke has ever given him, the one where she genuinely didn't give enough of a shit to say anything was the worst one. It was clear in her demeanor, the way her shoulders hunched up when Lexa was around, how her eyebrows would tense, making the lines in her forehead appear.

Bellamy passes Friday's detention by drumming into the back of a younger boy's seat--who had probably gotten sick of it at some point but was too scared to say anything. Leaving the room with a thoughtful expression that clearly makes Miss Praetus uncomfortable.

"What the hell can I do next week?" He murmurs under his breath. Bellamy doesn't mean extra-curricular activities like some elitist celibacy club. No, he means harmless things that most dumbasses do to get into trouble. Like unscrewing a screw in someone's chair.

 He fishes for his phone in his pocket, Octavia should've texted by now. As much of an asshat as he often was to his little sister, he'd take a bullet for her. After an exceeding amount of bickering, Bellamy had come to an agreement with Octavia, she could have her friends bring her home as long as she messaged him to inform him that she wasn't kidnapped. No exceptions. 

His phone brightens and Bellamy silently curses himself for constantly leaving his phone at the brightest setting. 

It's from an unknown number, but the text is straight to the point;  _'Come to the nurse's office. Octavia's here.'_ Bellamy's heart clenches a bit, and he darts to the office, not bothering to read the rest of the message. The prospect of Octavia even remotely hurt made Bellamy go all psycho commando.

Serah, the school's nurse (also someone who'd seen a lot of freshman Bellamy), directs him to one of the cubicles, the crappy kind that's only separated from the others by an old shower curtain. Octavia's fast asleep with a peaceful look on her features, and it's only when he hears a throat being cleared does he notice Clarke sitting on the stool a foot away from the bed. It's quite a feat, seeing as her locks of golden hair had the tendency to shield everything else in his vision. 

Clarke registers the worried look on his face. "Your sister's alright," she offers. At this, he lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. 

"What happened?" Bellamy draws to Octavia, still sound asleep despite their noise. 

"I think she's coming down with a fever, or uh, a seasonal flu." Clarke says, laying her hand on her forehead to take her temperature. Bellamy was always fascinated by when people did that; he couldn't tell the difference. It was either really hot or just cold. Bellamy would ask why she was here, but he very well knew the multiple answers. For one thing, Clarke  _is_  one of Octavia's best friends and also her ride. For another, Bellamy knew that Clarke was here a lot, as far as he's been told by Octavia, her mom was some genius physician and Clarke took after her. He assumed that she just liked helping out Serah. 

"Anyway, give her antibiotics and she'll be good." Clarke continues. They both probably simultaneously   realize that this is the first time they weren't at each other's throats, because Clarke stands up and narrows her eyes. 

"Thanks, doc." Bellamy feels a twinge of pride at the fact that his mere presence can aggravate her. This was a whole new level of hate.

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Let's just bring her to your car so that I can freaking leave, okay?" 

With a 'yes mam', Bellamy holsters Octavia onto his back, giving her a piggy-back ride that starts to invoke nostalgic feelings he'd really rather not have at the moment. They head to the parking lot, thanking Serah on the way out. After laying Octavia on the backseat of his car, he turns to Clarke, who had already started walking away. Bellamy notices a lack of a certain red car in the parking lot. 

"Hey, Griffin!" He calls out, pacing towards her before he can mentally process it. 

"What?"  

"I'll drive you home," Bellamy deadpans, like it's the most normal thing in the world. 

"Does it look like I don't have any fucking legs?" Clarke waves a leg.

"Look, let's just make this easier for the both of us and get in." Bellamy says with a finality in his voice. Clarke must've really had a rough week because she let's out a defeated sigh and follows without protest.

The air is heavy, and it has nothing to do with the weather. The silence is suffocating and Bellamy is itching to say something but the look on Clarke's face makes him think otherwise. He's  _this_  close to turning the radio on.

"So," she says as they pull out of the school, "it's uh, turn left at the first light and right on the next one and turn left to Virginias and head straight." That's all she says for a few minutes before Bellamy is greatly disturbed by the silence again.

"Uh," he rummages through his brain to think of something to say, "why wasn't your car there?" 

Clarke looks pained, like she had really hoped they weren't going to talk. "Raven was our ride today, but she couldn't stay long after school and Octavia," she gestures towards the girl behind them, no words needed.

"Is it always Raven on Fridays?" The awkwardness is so palpable that Bellamy considers jumping out of the car. 

"No." She says with an indefinite pause. "Lexa usually drove me on Fridays but, yeah, you've probably already heard." Bellamy just won the asshole of the year medal. The tone is so unlike Clarke Griffin that he can't help but look at her, to see if she hasn't been replaced with some alien. 

"What?" She says, weirded out by his sudden turn. "Hey man, keep your eyes on the road."

"Nothing," he shakes his head, "but like, are you, like--okay?" And it sounds so fucking unnatural that he wouldn't be surprised if she didn't answer it. 

Bellamy wishes he thought of something better to ask, 'are you okay' doesn't only sound unnatural, but also insincere. Also, it probably forces her to talk about it, which makes things even more awkward. 'Great going, dumbass.' Bellamy mentally gives himself a pat on the back.

"Honestly? I'm not that surprised, I mean, she did warn me before we got together that she wasn't completely over Costia." Clarke's voice sounds unaffected, like this means nothing, but Bellamy suspects it's only cause it's him she's talking to.

She offers nothing else, "What are you gonna do, then?" Bellamy looks at her, the car pauses at the stop light.

"Frankly, I couldn't care less at the moment, I like her--like, a lot, but I'm more sick of all the pity looks everyone's giving me to care if she's making out with her ex." Bellamy detects a hint of bitter in her tone, Clarke takes a breath before continuing. 

"Bellamy," she says, and the fact that Clarke just said his  _first_   _name_  makes him nervous, "okay, I know this isn't something people should ask or hell--even do--"

"Is this where you ask me to have her kidnapped and tortured because if so, I'm unfortunately not the right guy for this job and--"

"What the hell--no,  _no._ Jesus, just shut up until I'm done okay," she frustratedly runs her hands through her hair and Bellamy is distracted again. 

"As I was trying to say," Bellamy is  _still_  distracted by how unearthly golden her hair is, "I'd literally do anything right now to like, stop all these people patting me on the back and saying shit like 'it's gonna be okay' and I don't even know how so many people know about it but--okay I'm going out of topic."

"So, you want me to murder the people giving you these looks or--" 

"I said shut up,  _please, for once_." Clarke looks at Octavia, as if suddenly remembering she's there because her tone grows quieter, "I've been looking for ideas to, you know, put all these people off and it sounds immoral I know, but," she looks at her hands, probably weighing the pros and cons of what she's about to say.

Bellamy still has no fucking clue what she's getting to, and he's not sure if it's just cause he's dense, but judging from the fact that Clarke is attempting to be civil with him, it's not going to bode well. 

"I thought about how if I was with someone, people would like--back off or something, or they'd think I'm managing well at most, and yeah, I know this is incredibly juvenile and getting into a relationship isn't supposed to solve my problems, but with Finn Collins pestering me now that I'm single and all the fragile looking glances the whole school's been giving me--I'm at a loss for what to do but this," Clarke's pained expression tightens, "I need you to, uh, date me?" It comes out unsurely, as if she's questioning herself. 

"...What?" Bellamy is obviously articulate. Clarke simply looks up at him with an expression that makes her seem like she's about to dig herself into a hole.

"Like, uh, not for real--like, fake date me? Pretend relationship?" Yes, that truly helps Bellamy comprehend the situation.

"Huh?" 

"And I figured asking you would make the most sense because it won't exactly make things that awkward between us seeing as you so clearly already hate me and there's no relationship to lose here." Clarke says in a matter-of-a-fact voice.

"What makes you think I'll say yes?" Bellamy scoffs, he can hardly believe what she just asked him. What did he owe her? Nothing.

"I--don't." She sounds defeated, and it makes Bellamy feel weird. Almost like he pities her.  _Almost._

" _Ha_ , then why ask?"

"Because, Bellamy Blake, as much of an annoying piece of shit you pretend to be--"

"Pretend? Clarke Griffin, you don't know me if you think I'm pret--" Bellamy feels vaguely offended by this.

"As I was saying, as much of an idiotic ass you make yourself seem, I know,  _I goddamn know_  that deep down somewhere under your sarcastic self-defense mechanism, is someone smart who genuinely cares about the well-being of other students." Clarke is staring Bellamy down like her life depended on it, thank God it was a red light.

Bellamy is quiet, for once, he has nothing to volunteer. His eyes are glued to the road because apparently, it's the most intriguing thing in the world at the moment.

"I saw what you did for Monty, you know. Douchebags don't do that for defenseless dorks. So tell me, Bellamy, tell me you're an uneducated idiot."

No hesitation needed, "I'm an idiot." Bellamy doesn't look at her, but he knows that she's probably rolling her eyes.

"You know what else? Idiots don't get the solution parts of math tests right." Now that was just stereotypical.

"What the hell are you talking about?" His voice sounds unstable, caught in his own lie.

"Save it, Blake. I've seen your exams, there's no hiding." Clarke makes an inhumane sound of frustration. "Look, you don't have to give me an answer now, but could you  _please_  think it through? You can tell me on Monday."

Bellamy is hardly processing anything, but he registers a pang of utter irritation in himself. He makes a sharp turn, spotting the house he saw her enter before. The car roughly brakes in front of the driveway. It's a large house--large and very,  _very_ intimidatingly organized. The poster house for American families.

Clarke swings the car door open as soon as it stops. "Thanks." She says, barely audible. 

"Clarke, I don't owe you anything." 

"I know, but you didn't owe me anything when you followed me here when it rained a few days ago, too." With that, she gets into the house of annoyingly clean white picket fences and bay windows.

_Fuck, she knew._

Bellamy has absolutely no clue how Octavia hadn't woken up at all during their exchanges, but looking at her through the rear-guard mirror, it was apparent that she wouldn't be woken up anytime soon. "Let's get you home, kiddo." 

He had a lot to think about, and a weekend wasn't enough. Hell, Bellamy doubted that giving him a full month would've been sufficient either. 

 

Raven looks tired, her fingers lazily toy with the fries on her plate. It was a habit of her's Bellamy had absorbed over their few visits to Ark's Diner, the same way he'd absorbed the fact that she would order a cheeseburger and a double chocolate milkshake every single time they were there, without fail. 

"Please tell me you're joking." Raven's expression is passive, giving him a judgemental look she often did. She sips on her milkshake.

"I would if I could." Bellamy eyes his fish and chips, wishing he ordered a milkshake of his own. He had just finished relaying all events of yesterday's car ride with Clarke, saying it left his mouth dry was an understatement.

"I can't believe Clarke didn't fucking run it through me first," she mumbles, "dude, the hell,  _you_  and Clarke Griffin? Who the hell would buy that?"

"If you wouldn't, I don't know who would." Bellamy thought of telling Raven like a test drive, so far, it was going unexpectedly badly. 

"I mean, come on, there's no way she'd go for anyone like you." Raven says a bit too seriously. Bellamy's dignity is fading fast.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bellamy grumbles under his breath. He already knew the answer though. It was true after all, student council member Clarke Griffin and resident rule-breaker Bellamy Blake held a negative hundred chance of getting together. Yet, like some cruel trick of fate, here he is.

Raven snorts. "Do I really have to explain that, Bell?" She really didn't. "All I'm saying is that no one's gonna buy it,  _no one._ "

The scale of yes or no is leaning heavily towards the no side at the moment. The previous night was spent wasting away in his thoughts and considering the possible outcomes--all were ugly, and cringe-inducing. How are they supposed to pass as a couple when they can hardly hold a civil conversation for more than three minutes?

'Hey Clarke, let's talk about your favorite movies--which I'd probably all hate.' 'Oh wait, here are a few of my favorites, which  _you'd_  probably hate too.' Bellamy can vividly imagine a conversation going like so.

"Oh shit." Raven suddenly brings a hand to her face and sinks in her seat. 

"What?" Bellamy quirks an eyebrow at her, confused until he notices a pair of boys enter the diner. He's met Kyle Wick a few times, through Raven of course, the trio got along well. It was more than apparent that he had a thing for her, Bellamy never mentioned it though. With Wells Jaha--it's safe to say that everyone in school knew who he was, being the son of their principal. Bellamy knew him for something else, and that was as Clarke's bitch. These two were part of a specialized breed of humans. Honor students. Funny enough, also part of Clarke's little crew of them.

"I sorta blew him off today?" She's still hiding, which doesn't really explain much. "I kinda promised him we were gonna hang out, but you called and fun times with Bellamy Blake are always more entertaining so I told him I was busy."

"Aw, you'd rather hang out with me? I'm fucking touched." Bellamy fakes a googly expression.

"Of course, listening to your problems makes me realize that my life doesn't suck half as much as your's." Fuck her sustaining ability to come up with comebacks.

They both watch the pair of boys settle into a booth, a fair distance from them, enough not to be noticed. For now.

"Seriously, what've you been up to? You look like you haven't slept in three days, or something." Bellamy was always blunt with her, she oddly appreciated it.

"Make that four," she twirls a fry in her fingers, "oh you know, the usual, working on that damn physics project, avoiding my mom, what else?" Which Bellamy internally translates to 'oh you know, just thinking of Finn Collins again.'

"Oh--really?" 

Raven gets it, she glares at him. "Yes, really." His Finn Collins rant senses start to tingle. He counts for a few seconds. "Jesus, did 'ya know he was following Clarke into class earlier this week? It was so fucking annoying. I mean, come on, it was already so obvious she was telling him to back-off, but there he was, in my fucking Physics class."

"How many times do I have to tell you that he's a little shit? Stop giving him the satisfaction of knowing he can rile you up like this." Bellamy says with mischief laced in his tone. 

"Look who's talking, 'Mr. Clarke Griffin is so annoying but I can't stop talking about her nor looking at her.'" 

"I don't do either?"

"Here it is, in-denial Bellamy." Raven snorts. "This is like telling you Octavia has kissed  _at least_  five boys all over again." 

Bellamy visibly tenses up. "Octavia hasn't kissed  _anyone_." 

Raven looks even more amused, "Your little innocent sister isn't half as innocent as you think, Bell."

"Then why hasn't she told me anything?" The line of his mouth curls downward.

"Bellamy, if you were O, would you tell your ridiculously over-protective older brother about the boys you've kissed?" 

Bellamy huffs, he hated how easily she could make her points. But, this is why they were friends after all, both were as equally vicious and relentless as the other. 

"Raven!" They've been caught, their volume guaranteed it to happen anyway. Wells looks at them confusedly from across the diner looking like he's about to walk over.

"Run?" Raven's eyes widen.

"Run." Bellamy confirms, barely containing his laughter. He leaves a bill on the table before Raven (as usual) starts protesting against it and the pair dart out while everyone else watches them with appalled looks that probably say 'teenagers these fucking days.'

Bellamy never thought that he'd be spending a Monday avoiding Clarke Griffin at all costs, but here he is, not that he had anything better to do. He feels the urge to shout 'where the hell are the cameras' at nothing in particular because his life is the equivalent of a Saturday night TV show joke right now.

"Dude, you've been on edge the whole fucking morning, what's up?" Miller gathers the notebooks on his desk, which were an unusual lot because contrary to what most people would think, he was a pretty studious guy.

"Uh," Bellamy's mind is failing on him, "just worried about a test," and Bellamy knows that Miller doesn't buy it in the slightest because his face crumples into a strange look.

"O--kay..." Miller's eyebrow quirks, and he looks like he wants to say something else but he doesn't. 

They pass by Miller's locker before heading to the cafeteria, the plaza of endless high schooler idiocy and the spawning room of harassments from sweaty adolescents with nothing better to do. The fighting ground. Bellamy, over time, has mastered the ways of the cafeteria. He has learned to manipulate it to his benefit, which is to say that he has learned not to stand-out in any humiliating way possible. 

"Are you gonna drink that?" Lincoln stammers, joining them and pointing to Bellamy's small carton of milk. 

"Take it." Bellamy stands, leaving his immaculate slice of Pizza behind to grab another carton of milk. There were times he questioned his age and felt like a toddler, he loved milk to an unhealthy extent.

Bellamy queues into the line, he suddenly feels a tap on his shoulder. 

Clarke Griffin is standing right behind him, and he tries, but the terror-stricken face he makes couldn't be stopped. 

"You," says Clarke with scary determination in her voice, "you've been avoiding me." 

Bellamy collects himself before he can say something that doesn't make sense, "no I wasn't?" 

"Right," Clarke scoffs, "like practically running towards the opposite side of the hallway when you see me before class is normal." 

"Someone was calling me," Bellamy realizes that  _someone_  sounds pretty sketchy and adds, "Miller. Miller was." Which probably makes it worse.

"Miller was in my first period and he came into class late," says Clarke, flatly. Bellamy was already fucked to begin with but somehow, he has just dug himself further into the hole.

"Oh," mumbles Bellamy, "Wick?"

Clarke makes an impatient sound. "Blake, if you don't want to do it then  _fine_. But can you have the decency to say it to me straight instead of having me wait the whole day--" Clarke's voice wavers and Bellamy can see why. Lexa, with Costia glued to her side, is gradually approaching them from the other end of the hall. 

If Bellamy's life were some romantic-comedy film, this would be the exact moment he'd pull a Leonardo Dicaprio and sweep the damsel in his arms and flashily kiss her, Titanic style. But--Bellamy hated rom-coms and there was no way he could ever picture it happening without it ending with a stingy slap from Clarke. Her eyes fall downcast and no matter how many times she'll deny it to him, Lexa has fucking messed with her mind.

So instead, he improvises with words he will regret in approximately ten minutes. "Clarke," he says loudly, she looks startled by his volume. A few heads turn. 

"What the hell are you--" They'll both find out in a few moments. 

Bellamy grabs the fake tulip in the vase on the food counter that has been there since he started high school. "Uh," he really needs to stop acting on impulse, "Clarke," he repeats even louder. More heads turn, the whole hall is probably watching him now.

Turning back was too late. He had just went against his own rules of passive aggressive self-preservation. All these years of mastering it, gone to waste.

Bellamy gulps before he has the chance to wuss out, "after what we talked about I--um," 'to hell with it,' he decides, but he gets a feeling, the kind you get when you're about to do something you know you can't take back, and it's screaming at him, but he is blind to every logical aspect he has left within himself, "do you--will you go out with me?" Bellamy says it with false confidence and he hopes that from a spectator's perspective, it doesn't look like he's about to pass out because at the moment, he genuinely feels like he's about to. Bellamy carefully shoves the plastic flower into Clarke's free hand. Her grip on the tray on her other hand loosens like she's about to drop it. 

Bellamy is thankful for the years he has spent honing his ability to pretend he isn't crumbling under the weight of everyone's eyes, because it's the only reason he's still standing. He hears a loud but distant cough, Lincoln is choking on his milk. Miller is patting him on the back with his mouth agape, looking at Bellamy. He can vaguely recognize Raven's voice saying " _holy shit._ " And this among others, all happens in a matter of seconds, but to Bellamy, time has suddenly slowed down.

He's half expecting the world to suddenly meet an apocalypse and blow up into fiery oblivion, but instead, he is met with deafening silence.

To the rest of the student body this might look like a brave confession of a boy who has hoarded feelings for an unattainable girl, but the reality couldn't be more wrong it's almost laughable. He hears a faint click of a camera.

Clarke looks shocked, Bellamy's surprised she hasn't dropped the tray, but quickly recovers like a true professional. "Yeah," she nods, but her face is skeptical. He can hear another distant cough, Lincoln choked on another sip.

"Yeah?" says Bellamy, sounding breathless and slightly surprised even if he should've already been expecting it.

"Yeah." Clarke repeats. Her head bops while she struggles to keep her voice normal.

"I--nice, okay. Cool." Bellamy's foot taps an unsteady beat awkwardly, "uh, yeah. Okay--see you later then..." He takes a few step backwards, completely abandoning his purpose for getting into the line in the first place.

"I'm gonna--" Clarke grips the tray with both of her hands, and points it to the line, which had ceased to move while Bellamy was busy talking and making bad life choices. Even the lunch lady was frozen.

He tries to ignore the fact that everyone's still watching him like he had just performed open-heart surgery and walks to his previous seat. Miller and Lincoln don't help make the situation any better, all they really do is stare at him. 

"I am so, so confused," says Miller, still not moving.

Jasper and Monty suddenly settle into Bellamy's sides, they had just come from Clarke's table. They were leaning in so close that he could literally feel their breaths on his cheeks.

"Dude," Jasper sounds awe-struck, "that was so...smooth."

Monty nods, "so smooth," he repeats.

"Well," Jasper looks at him expectantly, "aren't you gonna sit with her or something?" 

At this, Lincoln nods, "yeah I mean, like, Clarke is welcome here." For some reason he looks emotional, similar to how a proud parent would look, "dude, you know I'm totally for this right? I  _fully_  support you guys." Bellamy prays Lincoln doesn't start tearing up.

"Clarke!" Monty shouts before Bellamy can do anything about it. "Get over here!" 

From a few tables away, Clarke shoots him a look and gestures to her table mates, which consists of Octavia (who surprisingly still hasn't said anything), Wick, Wells and Raven. Bellamy sighs in relief, he doesn't think he can take anything more than what he had just endured.

"We'll all fit!" Monty continues to shout to her, Bellamy feels like duct tapping his mouth. "Guys," Monty turns back to them, "scoot over. Make some space."

Clarke has no choice, if she refuses, it'd make the plan look bad. They had to convince everyone in this hall after all. So she walks over with a smile plastered on her face. 

Monty clears his throat and looks at Bellamy. Of course she'd have to sit with him, because they were a  _couple_ now. _A couple._ Bellamy can't tell if he wants to laugh or cry. He scoots over before he can do either.

For a while, they all just sit there staring at the pair. Bellamy burns a hole into his untouched slice of Pizza with his eyes. Maybe if he stares hard enough, he'll turn into a piece of Pepperoni and escape this train wreck of a situation. Bellamy can feel Clarke's knees against his. He pretends he doesn't.

Octavia is looking between them, her face attempting to read their expressions. "Can I just say," she begins and for once, Bellamy is thankful for her inability to shut up, "I fucking knew it." He takes it back. Bellamy mentally disowns her from being his sister.

"I mean," she looks too excited, "this explains so much." 

Wells, who had been staring at Clarke as if she had committed a criminal betrayal, clears his throat, "but I thought Bellamy was hooking up with Rave--" Raven leans over and rather violently nudges Wells in the abdomen with her elbow. This was going downhill too fast.

"Well," Bellamy summons back his will to live, "this," he gestures to the table, "is kinda new, eh?" Bellamy picks up his slice and waves it around a bit. Clarke still isn't saying anything, she stabs her fork into her pasta.

"Holy crap. Wait. How long have you guys liked each other?" Miller asks, and the perplexed expression he has only accentuates. 

Bellamy wants to lay the truth down at this moment. Right now. But it wasn't his call to make, it was the girl next to him who was fighting a war against pasta's call.

"Come on, like seriously, wasn't it obvious from the day they met?" says Octavia. Bellamy groans internally, he bites his Pizza to keep it from releasing.

Monty nods his head excitedly, "I totally agree." 

"You know, I think I've always noticed that Bellamy had this strange way of looking at her, for real." Jasper says it thoughtfully. If it weren't for the pizza he was chewing, Bellamy doesn't think he could've stopped himself from saying something.

"I was always like, trying to think of why Bell hated her so much you know," says Octavia, "like I'd think 'there's no way Bell can hate someone  _that_  much.'" She underestimates Bellamy's loathing capabilities. "My suspicions have been confirmed."

"What. You never suspected them of liking each other, O." Raven looks at Octavia skeptically, her tone accusing. 

"I did!" Octavia seems defensive, "I just never told anyone cause you'd all think I was over thinking things." 

"--Okay. Whatever. We're here for the both of you, dude, you guys are gonna be so fucking cute." Wick starts, Bellamy wants to claw his own face off. Where was this conversation going? Nowhere good for his sanity.

Bellamy catches Clarke's eye, he attempts to convey a message along the lines of 'say something before we all regret everything that was said this lunch hour when they learn the truth.'

"Thanks, I--uh, really appreciate that," says Clarke. Bellamy's jaw almost drops. He can't tell if she misread his message or if his face was just that hard to read. Or, maybe she had simply chose to ignore it. " _We_ appreciate that." Bellamy downs a bottle of water. It wasn't his, but he couldn't care less at the moment.

Was that the kind of couple they were going to be? The kind that constantly referred to themselves in plural form? Was migrating to China hard?

"No. Wait. Neither of you has answered the question yet." Wells will not give up, "when did the feelings show up? Seriously." 

There is no possible way Bellamy is answering that question first, so he kicks Clarke's foot. Sometimes, other people had to take one for the team. For a quick moment, her eyebrows draw together and she summons her most subtle glare. 

"Um. It's been a while," Clarke's tone is sweet, Bellamy thinks she's unusually good at this, "right?" Clarke turns to him this time.

"Yeah," is really all Bellamy can muster. It's accompanied by a sickeningly sweet smile he can barely hold.

"Clarke," Octavia looks at her seriously, "Just so you know--if my brother ever does anything wrong, I won't hesitate to beat him up." 

Clarke laughs at this. It actually surprises him. And wow, Bellamy doesn't think he's ever seen it this close. He doesn't think he's ever seen it with him around, period. He has only ever seen it from a far, across the room, across the hall maybe--but it's maddeningly bright. The whole thing is, the sound. The look. He could imagine a video camera combusting into flames after attempting to capture it. Nothing's supposed to be so, so... _nice_.

Lincoln puffs out his chest in an almost comical manner, "Yeah, man, same here. I've got Bell's back." Octavia's attention shifts to him.

Octavia bats her eyes, "how about mine?" And are they really doing this now? Bellamy can't help it this time, he rolls his eyes.

Monty makes an inhumanely happy sound, oblivious to the flirting, "I'm just-- _so_ happy for Clarke and Bell," he says, "they could never stand being around another and I get it now--it's cause they had to mask their true feelings!"

Bellamy wonders what he had done to deserve this. Besides the various detention-inducing things he has done over the months, nothing is worth being subjected to this kind of sadistic torture.

**Author's Note:**

> To clear things up, in this AU, Bellamy is a junior. Clarke and Octavia are sophomores.  
> I'm thinking that this probably won't be any longer than four chapters. Might even be three. So expect somehow long chapters. 
> 
> A heartfelt thank you to everyone who has just read this! 
> 
> This is my first-ever fic here, I'd really love to know what you think!
> 
> Expect more adolescent angst. Especially from our little asshole, Bellamy Blake.
> 
> My tumblr: samsiewrites Twitter: @samgsandoval


End file.
